Page 62 of On Your Life

By the time I get home I’m exhausted, but sleep is the last thing on my mind. I drop onto the couch, throw the laptop on my legs, and toss the Polaroid on the coffee table.

The screen clicks open. My fingers fly over the keys, typing in my birthday before navigating back to the video.

The CCTV footage starts playing again. I have watched it a thousand times. I fast forward through the useless parts, headlights zoom by on the overpass and people shuffle off in the distance at a fast pace, until the black SUV finally rolls into the frame. My finger slams the pause button. I grab the Polaroid and hold it beside the frozen image on the screen.

It’s the same outfit—black tactical gear, black balaclava, and wide as a fucking door.

“What did you get involved in Conner?”

Hopefully his ghost is listening.

Chapter 32

Conner

January 19th, 2025: Two months and three days before…

Ihave tossed and turned in bed for hours. I dropped my mom off at her apartment, begged and pleaded for her to go to the hospital, but she swore she was fine.

Fine. The woman had been unconscious just hours ago, and she still had the nerve to tell me that she was fine.

I wanted to drag her there myself but I can’t make a grown adult get help, even if they need it. So I left.

Now I’m paying for it. Every time I close my eyes, I see her crumpled on the ground. Every time I start to drift off my brain startles me awake with another possibility.

What if they go back for her? What if I should have stayed? Would this have even happened if I didn’t leave her downtown?

She said people were following her. I didn’t realize she had made it her personal mission to piss off a fucking drug cartel.

My phone lights up on the nightstand and my heart skips a beat. I snatch it off the table and stare at the screen. An email.

I nearly roll my eyes into the back of my head. It’s a fucking reminder to renew my meal subscription plan. I drop my phone onto the mattress and sigh.

“Get a grip, man.”

This shit has me so on edge that I feel like I’m going to come out of my own skin. My nerves are shot. Sleep isn’t happening.

I throw the blankets off and climb out of bed, deciding a cold shower might be enough to shock my brain into shutting the fuck up.

I make it halfway to the bathroom before I hear it.

CRASH

I freeze. The sound came from the front of the house. Everything inside me goes completely still. Then, instinct takes over.

I spin around, rush back into the bedroom, and grab my gun. My fingers close around the grip and I ease out of my room. The house is painfully quiet. I move toward the stairs, keeping my footsteps light and avoiding the squeaky floorboards.

My grip tightens around the firearm as I inch down each step, listening for another sound. My pulse pounds so hard I feel it in my fingers. Do I have it in me to actually shoot someone? I guess I’m about to find out.

I reach the bottom and sidestep around the corner. My muscles lock when I see the source of the noise.

The same two men I saw earlier are now sitting on my couch. This time, their masks are pulled up to their eyebrows, exposing most of their faces. They couldn’t be much older than I am. But there’s something about the way they sit there that makes them look older. Like whatever part of them that’s supposed to react to danger died a long time ago.

Both men stare blankly at the fireplace across from the couch. Neither one looks at me as I come down the stairs. They don’t even flinch at the loaded weapon aimed at the side of their heads.

“There will be no need for that, Conner. If you kill us more will come,” one of them says. He gestures toward the other couch. “Have a seat.”

I don’t move. My finger stays poised on the trigger. I don’t trust these people not to kill me the second I get too close.